


An Invitation for Thranduil

by moosefrog



Series: Raven-borne Messages [4]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Ravens, Roäc - Freeform, Troc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2019-01-07 19:19:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12239082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moosefrog/pseuds/moosefrog
Summary: Thorin's getting hitched and that means even Thranduil gets a heads up about the big event. But what is this? Two ravens have messages for the Mirkwood King? Thranduil doesn't have enough wine for this nonsense.





	An Invitation for Thranduil

Mirkwood was a perilous place even for an old and cunning raven. Known safe paths could shift and change, enchantments misled travellers, and the shadow that came from the south of Mirkwood kept spreading and with it came strange, murderous beasts.

Thranduil was aware of the raven, by means of enchantments and the quick gossip of his flocks of tiny songbirds, from the instant it entered his domain. In the past century, visits from Ereborean ravens had become rare; for obvious reasons. Yet, Thranduil had left enchantments in place that would assist the dwarven messenger birds in finding his palace safely.

Somewhat safely. He was still mad at Thrór and his descendants over the White Gems of Lasgalen. Nobody could hold onto a grudge like an elf. Although he supposed, dwarves would claim they could hold a grudge longer. They were wrong, of course, as they often were.

Birdsong filled the throne room with a sudden burst of noise. Thranduil listened intently then relaxed and called for a raven's meal to be brought to him. By the time the meal was brought to him and set aside where he could reach it easily, Roäc made his appearance, gliding majestically to the throne from a high window to alight upon Thranduil's outstretched arm.

"Well met, Roäc," Thranduil said by way of greeting. He smiled when Roäc dipped his head in a bow. When he straightened up and flipped his wings into a more comfortable position Thranduil noticed the metal tube, ridiculously overwrought in the dwarven fashion, strapped to the raven's leg.

"I see you have been pressed into service again, my friend. Allow me to relieve you of your burden and provide you with a meal." Thranduil transferred the raven to a perch on his throne and his deft fingers soon had the entire contraption removed from Roäc's leg.

"Many thanks, Thranduil, King of Mirkwood," Roäc said as he settled on the perch. "My flight was not without peril. The people of Laketown first mistook me for a fish thief then for a dragon. Mirkwood, by contrast, seems welcoming."

"My woods? Welcoming?" Thranduil paused his movements to consider this then smiled, briefly, and turned to pick a choice bit of meat off of the plate and presented it to Roäc who gently took it from his fingers and wolfed it down. "Perhaps I am losing my touch?"

"Keh keh keh," Roäc laughed. "I am certain that those who do not know to follow the sparrows would find travelling through your woods difficult, your majesty."

"I certainly hope so," Thranduil said. There was, in fact, another presence in his woods who was not having as easy a time as Roäc had. He was content to continue leading the interloper in circles while he enjoyed a visit with an old friend.

"And what news have you brought me today?" Thranduil asked. Roäc finished drinking from the goblet Thranduil had held up for him and wiped his beak off on his antler perch before answering.

"A wedding," Roäc said. "Between his majesty and his majesty's hobbit."

"Really? Is he marrying the halfling? Hm," Thranduil fed Roäc another morsel as he thought about that. "I had not thought forgiveness to be a trait Thorin Oakenshield possessed." After the halfling had smuggled the Arkenstone out of Erebor and given it to the allied forces as a bargaining chip against Thorin and his party… well, Thranduil was more surprised than he let show that a union was in the stars for those two.

Roäc didn't care for gossip, he took his duty as a messenger very seriously, but he had been bringing Thranduil bits of news about the region for years when his father, Carc, could no longer make the journey. Mirkwood's king had always been considerate of his kind and the ravens of Ravenhill had a long memory. Thranduil had been a friend to the ravens as far back as any raven-tale could tell.

"The hobbit is a force to be reckoned with," Roäc said candidly. "He is neither as soft nor as weak as he appears."

"I had not thought him either of those things," Thranduil said. Privately, he felt the halfling was a sneak and deviously cunning. He would have to advise his diplomats to be careful around the soon-to-be consort. Ah, but if the halfling had been any different things would have gone quite badly at Erebor's stoop. Thranduil was not unaware the peace in the region was, largely, because of the halfling's actions. "It takes a great amount of courage, and daring, to do the things he has done." That was a diplomatic answer. He was certain Roäc would be filling Thorin in on what was discussed here.

After meeting Bilbo, Thranduil had become curious about halflings, or hobbits as they call themselves and had conferred with his most learned advisors but they could not recall much about the shy and diminutive race. He suspected Elrond might know more… but he had no intention of writing to Rivendell or suffering Mithrandir's presence again to satisfy his curiosity. "I dare say that courage and daring is needed in large supply if he is in a relationship with Thorin Oakenshield."

Thranduil passed another gobbet of meat to Roäc then wiped his fingers off on a napkin that had been thoughtfully provided. The message tube Roäc had carried was not large enough for a formal invitation, which would be edged in gold and painstakingly scribed with coloured inks… he unscrewed the cap and shook the tube of parchment out onto his lap.

 

> _Thranduil,_
> 
> _Next autumn I shall wed. A formal invitation to follow. Your party will be graciously received._
> 
> _Thorin II Oakenshield_  
>  _King Under the Mountain_

 

Thranduil rolled his eyes. Was this supposed to be an informal notification? A bit of courtesy being extended to Erebor's potential allies? Of course, Thorin had not been able to resist the dig about hospitality. It was tempting to write back and tell Thorin exactly where he could shove his informal invitation and the insult he'd been given but…

Hrm.

The halfling made things interesting.

"Would you say the halfling, Bilbo, has influence over Thorin, Roäc?"

Roäc hunched his shoulders and dipped his beak defensively. Answering a question like that seemed too much like giving away a royal secret but apparently, his lack of an answer was an answer in and of itself to Thranduil, who smirked.

"Ah, please forgive me, my old friend. You must be quite tired from your journey," Thranduil clapped his hands and an attendant approached the throne. "Please show my guest to a roost for the night and ensure he is given all he wishes to eat and drink."

Once Roäc was carried from the throne room Thranduil settled back on his throne, poured himself a glass of wine and made a magical adjustment that would allow his second, mysterious, visitor to find him. Some time passed before there was an indignant squawk and a thump as if something had hit the grating instead of stepping through it. A black feather spiralled down from the ceiling and Thranduil plucked it from the air to examine it.

"Do join me down here," Thranduil called out as he twirled the feather in his hand. How unusual to receive two ravens so close together. Perhaps this raven would have Thorin's real message? He suspected that if it was the case, uncouth language would be involved. He almost hoped there would be as it would provide him with the justification to respond in kind.

There was a pregnant silence and Thranduil imagined the strange Raven trying to preen ruffled feathers down into a more presentable state before facing him. He could appreciate that. Finally, after a long few minutes, there was a clearing of a corvid throat and a large, glossy raven floated down to the throne in a slow spiral.

This raven was younger than Roäc but not larger meaning it was either a young adult or female. It landed a wary distance away from the throne and ducked its head, briefly, before it announced, "I am Troc, daughter of Roäc! I bring a message for Thranduil, king of the wee-er," she cleared her throat and ducked her head again, "Kingofmirkwood from Bilbo Baggins!"

"Indeed," Thranduil's stern look flickered briefly with amusement. "And is this a secret message? You have arrived here on the tail of your father, Troc, and I am certain that despite his advanced years he could have carried two small rolls of parchment at the same time."

Trock shifted her weight from foot to foot and clacked her beak, clearly excited, "Yes! Yes! Bilbo fuzz-foot sent Troc with a secret message! King small-beard mustn't know!"

Ha! He had been correct, the halfling was sneaky. He couldn't begin to imagine what this message might contain. "Ah, yes, Thorin's beard is rather… scant for a dwarf of his age and stature, isn't it?" Thranduil indicated the perch Roäc had recently used. "Join me up here, Troc, and deliver unto my ears your secret message."

Trock flapped awkwardly to get airborne and take the perch. She puffed her chest out and proudly extended a leg with a rather plain (for dwarf construction) message tube attached. As Thranduil deftly removed the tube, Troc blurted out, "Fuzz-foot wants some pretty cloth! He thinks dwarf-cloth is rough and not shiny like elf-cloth!"

Thranduil turned his head to hide a smile. Troc really was quite young and still figuring out how to behave as a messenger. He could remember Roäc when he was Troc's age also being quite… impetuous. When he'd regained his stern composure he fixed Troc with a stare. "It is customary, Troc, to allow a recipient to read the message. Quietly. So not everyone within hearing knows the content of the message."

She hung her head contritely and scraped her beak back and forth on the perch to keep herself from blurting anything further out while Thranduil read the message.

 

> _Good day to you, King Thranduil._
> 
> _Perhaps you remember me? I have been told I'll be marrying Thorin this autumn. If I agree to it, I fear I will have nothing grand enough to wear for the event. Dwarf fashion is very… dwarfish and I would prefer to dress for this special occasion more in the manner of my own people._
> 
> _Which means I will need fabric much finer than what dwarves are accustomed to making. I have heard from King Bard of Dale that Mirkwood is famous for its fine fabric and I was wondering if, and how, I might secure a bolt of such cloth for my wedding finery. (Should I decide to proceed with the wedding.) It is a hobbit tradition to dress for the season so if you have something in an autumnal colour I would be delighted!_
> 
> _If you wouldn't mind not mentioning this to Thorin I would be most obliged. This is not between Erebor and Mirkwood but between a hobbit far from home and a king who knows fine fabric._
> 
> _Please send a reply with Troc and not Roäc._
> 
> _Thank you very much,_  
>  _Bilbo Baggins_

 

Well. Wasn't this message interesting? The soon-to-be (if Thorin got his way) consort didn't seem the sort to fall into line. And he had the audacity to write a king as if they were equals! He really should find a reliable source who could educate him about halfling ways. Did they not have kings?

It was very clever of the halfling to ask about Mirkwood silk. Mirkwood and Erebor used to enjoy quite a bit of trade in silk and the cessation of that trade meant that Mirkwood's coffers had dwindled. The Men of Dale had little use for finery and, indeed, did not have the wealth to purchase it. If the consort-to-be could open up the silk trade, Mirkwood would be able to afford masons from Erebor to repair stonework, import more goods from Dale, and the region's economy would be stimulated.

He wondered if Balin had put the idea in Bilbo's head or if he'd come up with it all on his own? Certainly, if the royal consort wore Mirkwood silk to his wedding others would want to wear it, as well.

A clacking noise drew him out of his thoughts and reminded him a young raven was nervously waiting for his attention. He let her wait while he finished his glass of wine then clapped for another attendant.

"Take Troc to a roost far from Roäc and ensure she is given plenty to eat and drink. I will have separate responses for our messengers in the morning." He reached for his wine flask and frowned. "And bring me more wine! I have to be diplomatic and that cannot happen without assistance!."


End file.
